Inferno
by TheDarkLord'sMistress
Summary: Third in the Everybody's Darling series. Even the smallest spark can ignite an inferno. Is Primrose really ready to burn Panem to the ground and build anew from ashes?
1. Chapter 1

_Okay I'll say it upfront and please take it seriously: This installment is much more messed up than the first two. There, I felt it was just canon-typical violence. This is... well, it's much worse than the first two and I think it might be worse than Mockingjay, too, so **please **take the rating seriously._

_There will be many upsetting subjects discussed or alluded to, including contemplated and attempted suicide, sexual violence and varying methods of torture. (then again, most of that was very much alluded to in Mockingjay, so maybe I'm being overly cautious... might still be canon-typical horror, then) _

_I won't go into detail with anything, but be aware that it will be mentioned. This mostly applies for later chapters, but I just want you to be aware. Most such chapters/paragraphs can probably be skimmed or skipped without missing _too much _plot so yeah. Maybe it's not even as bad as I think it is, I've read much more upsetting stuff. But I just want everyone to be safe, so yeah..._

_Also, character death galore, but nothing new there._

_If mention of selfharm might be triggering to you, please proceed with caution as it is mentioned/implied from this chapter forward. _

_*Effie voice* And now, welcome, welcome, to _Inferno.

_)o(_

I make my round of the hospital almost mechanically, day after day, shadowing my mother from bed to bed or deviding patients between us. They offered a 'real' doctor for me to assist, as they see my mother as more of a nurse, a ways of starting my medical training, but I turned them down. I don't want to owe these people anything. I don't want them to think they're forgiven for not saving more of those in Twelve. Most of all, I don't want a load of strangers treating our wounded. They're here, of course, and they're helping, doing their best. But I can see it in the eyes of everyone from Twelve that it's a relieve when my mother or I are the ones to take care of them.

There's so much pain and suffering around me, I wonder how any of us can even bare it. But I suppose it's as Haymitch said when I visited him in the room he's confined to while in withdrawl: We're survivors, we grit our teeth, soldier on and stay alive.

He was refering to the Victors, really, but I guess it applies to everyone here.

I move to the next bed and a small smile steals its way onto my face at the sight of Laureen Mellark and her baby. I missed the birth but my mum was there to deliver the little girl last night."Hey, you two. How's the little lady doing?"

"She's perfect,"Laureen replies, tearing her gaze from her daughter to look at me."They say we can move to our compartment tomorrow. Rye'll even get special leave to help get her settled in."

"That's great,"I say, even though I can't help thinking how silly the schedules on everyone's arm are. You even get time allotted to see your own newborn daughter... But, on the other hand, the people in Thirteen are almost obsessive in the way they take care of children and young mothers, so they aren't all bad. A refugee from Ten, Dalton, leaked the real motive to me. "They need you. Me. They need us all. Awhile back, there was some sort of pox epidemic that killed a bunch of them and left a lot more infertile. New breeding stock. That's how they see us."

Back in Ten, he'd worked on one of the beef ranches, maintaining the genetic diversity of the herd with the implantation of long-frozen cow embryos. He's very likely right about Thirteen, because there don't seem to be nearly enough kids around. But so what? We're not being kept in pens, we're being trained for work, the children are being educated. Those over fourteen have been given entry-level ranks in the military and are addressed respectfully as "Soldier" and so am I, even though I'm technically too young. Perks of being the symbol of rebellion, I guess. Every single refugee was granted automatic citizenship by the authorities of Thirteen. Still, something about the structures here and especially about their President gives me the creeps. So far, I have managed to get around any real meeting with her by citing the injured, but I think her patience is wearing thin, especially because so far, Olive is being anything but cooperative from what I've gathered.

"Would you like to hold her?"Laureen offers and I accept, settling down on the edge of the bed and letting Laureen help me settle the tiny infant in my arms. I cradle her against my chest carefully, staring at her in awe. She's absolutely perfect and I can't help myself, I carefully rearrange her blankets so I can count her fingers and toes. Laureen laughs lightly."I did that already. All where it should be."

I look up with a sheepish grin."Good. Does she have a name yet?"

The young mother nods, tears springing to her eyes."Peetra. Peetra Elisabeth Mellark."

Named for two people she'll never meet, Rye's brother and Laureen's mother, an uncle and a grandmother dead before she was even born; just like the rest of her family, except her parents and uncle Taftan. And with that, she still has more left than most people from my home district. I swallow hard around the sudden tightness in my throat, gently brushing my fingers through the baby's blonde curls."I like it."

I hand the little girl back to her mother because I can't look at her anymore, don't trust myself to hold her any longer. I leave the hospital and sink to the floor in the first empty corridor I can find. It seems strange that there could be this new little life, this source of happiness in the world, when so much has been lost over the last two weeks. I curl into a ball on the cold floor, my breathing erratic. Fifteen days since the Capitol took my sister and destroyed my home. Fifteen days since Livia's dad and both of Estelle's parents died. I dig my fingernails into my forearms. Fifteen days since Beetee, Wiress and Chaff arrived on the hovercraft without the other victors and Effie. I feel the first tears stinging in my eyes even as I'm willing myself to keep calm, to stop replaying everything in my mind. Thirteen days since Madge's mother died on the operating table. Ten days since we had to take Carwyn Cartwright's arm because the burns and subsequent infection were too severe. A sob tears from my throat and I press my nails into my skin harder. Eight days since Glamour woke from her coma and had to be dosed with morphling because she wouldn't stop screaming. Six days since they executed Cinna and Portia for the whole country to see. I feel my skin break and the small trickle of blood gives me an odd sense of relief. I can't stop sobbing, though. Five days since Finnick stopped eating and they had to restrain him to stop him from doing worse. Three days since I stopped taking their pills and since I last slept for more than an hour.

A hand on my shoulder jerks me back into the here and now. I manage to choke back a scream and realise that it's Rory. He turns my arms over gently and frowns at the bloodied, raised welts my nails left there, but doesn't say anything about it. Sometimes I can't tell if he's scared for me or of me.

"Primmie,"he says gently,"They decided. You've got clearance to go to Twelve."

_)o(_

_Thanks again for all the name-ideas but I couldn't decide so I went with something completely different ha_


	2. Chapter 2

I stare at my feet, watching as a fine layer of ash settles on my shoes. All that is left of what once used to be my home is a charred heap of bricks that must have once be the chimney.

I grab for Rory's hand, glad he agreed to come along with me. I don't think I could have managed by myself. I'm still not sure coming was a good idea.

The authorities in District Thirteen certainly didn't think so. They were against my coming back. They viewed it as a costly and pointless venture, given that at least a dozen invisible hovercrafts are circling overhead for my protection and there's no intelligence to be gained. But I insisted, made it a condition of my cooperating with any of their plans. Half because I felt I needed to see this all for myself, to really understand that it actually happened, and half because I didn't think they'd agree and I was stalling for time. I have a very terrifying suspicion that whatever I'll do will be taken out on Katniss. But if I do nothing, there's no chance of getting her back, either. I need more time to decide what to do. Or maybe have Haymitch come out of isolation and tell me what to do, I don't even know how to decide something this big.

Surprisingly and annoyingly quickly, Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker who had organised the rebels in the Capitol, threw up his hands. "Let her go. Better to waste a day than another few weeks. Maybe a little tour of Twelve is just what she needs to convince her we're on the same side."

"You okay? Should I come down?"Gale's voice sounds through the headset the rebels insisted I wear. He's up in a hovercraft, watching us carefully, ready to swoop in if anything goes amiss.

"No,"I tell him, even as I tighten my hold on Rory's hand,"I'm fine. We're fine."

I throw my best friend a look that clearly asks if that is true, but he only nods, biting his lower lip. He used to do that during exams. The thought is oddly comforting.

We start walking. The summer's been scorching hot and dry as a bone. There's been next to no rain to disturb the piles of ash left by the attack. They shift here and there, in reaction to our footsteps. No breeze to scatter them. I keep my eyes on what I remember as the road, because when I first landed in the Meadow, I wasn't careful and I walked right into a rock. Only it wasn't a rock - it was someone's skull. It rolled over and over and landed faceup, and for a long time I couldn't stop looking at the teeth, wondering whose they were, thinking of how mine would probably look the same way under similar circumstances.  
>Rory and I stick to the road out of habit, but it's a bad choice, because it's full of the remains of those who tried to flee. Some were incinerated entirely. But others, probably overcome with smoke, escaped the worst of the flames and now lie reeking in various states of decomposition, carrion for scavengers, blanketed by flies.<em>I killed you<em>, I think as I pass a pile. _And you. And you.  
><em>Because if I had died in that arena like I was suppossed to, none of this would have happened. Two children would have been send off to die, year after year, but the district would not be reduced to rubble.  
>The citizens of District Twelve had no organized resistance movement of their own. No say in any of this. They only had the misfortune to have me. Some survivors think it's good luck, though, to be free of District Twelve at last. To have escaped the endless hunger and oppression, the perilous mines, the lash of our final Head Peacekeeper, Romulus Thread. To have a new home at all is seen as a wonder since, up until a short time ago, we hadn't even known that District Thirteen still existed.<br>But now it's become the home to almost two thousand refugees from Twelve. It's something like a wonder that so many survived, and most of the credit for the survivors' escape has landed squarely on Gale's shoulders, although he's loath to accept it. He keeps telling me Mayor Undersee warned him something would happen as soon as the Games had started and that he wouldn't have reacted as fast otherwise. He'd put his friends Bristle and Thom on alert, too, and Rory went to Taftan Mellark, who organised the escape of plenty of people from town along with his brother and the Cartwrights. Without them knowing to look out for anything odd in the Games, I'm not sure if even half the people would have made it. Because as soon as the Quarter Quell was over the electricity in District Twelve was cut, the televisions went black, and the Seam became so silent, people could hear one another's heartbeats. No one did anything to protest or celebrate what had happened in the arena. Yet within fifteen minutes, the sky was filled with hoverplanes and the bombs were raining down.  
>It was Gale who thought of the Meadow, one of the few places not filled with old wooden homes embedded with coal dust. He herded those he could in its direction, including my mother. He formed the team that pulled down the fence - now just a harmless chain-link barrier, with the electricity off - and led the people into the woods. He took them to the only place he could think of, the lake my father had shown Katniss as a child and that she had later showed to Gale. And it was from there they watched the distant flames eat up everything they knew in the world.<br>It wasn't long after my mother had managed to set up a rudimentary medical area that our hovercraft and the others from Thirteen arrived to take people on board. Plutarch has told me, in what he refered to as confidence, that they would have taken much longer to debate on whether or not to sent a rescue team if I hadn't thrown a fit, though he phrased it kinder. I'm not sure why he told me that, because it didn't exactly make me like him or Coin any more than before, rather the opposite.  
>We make it through the wreckage of what used to be the Seam slowly, coming past places I once held dear and now only recognise because I know the streets so well by memory. Livia's house, where we used to skip rope outfront. Rory's home, or rather what's left of it. His grip on my hand tightens. The spot where the Seam meets town, where Mum used to wait when I insisted I was too old to be picked up right infront of school. The bakery, memories of Peeta's friendly, smiling face, Mr Mellark's wink when he pressed a still-warm cookie into my hands and put a finger to his lips, like it was the biggest secret we could share. Both dead.<br>And then we reach the Victor's Village. I bit my lip."Could you wait here?"  
>Rory nods, giving my hand a quick squeeze before letting go. I don't know why, but I feel like I have to do this alone.<br>I move through the house as quietly as possible, reluctant to make any sound. I pick up a few remembrances: a photo of my parents on their wedding day, Dad's old jacket for Katniss, a silent promise to myself that I'll get her back, the family book of medicinal and edible plants.  
>I move to my room to find more. There's something nagging at the back of my mind when I enter my room, but I pay it no attention. I need my camera, something, anything Cinna's clever hands crafted for me, the painting of Amber that Peeta made for me. I stare at it for a while before placing it into my bag. I came here looking for answers, and maybe this is one. I still haven't made the change I've vowed to my friend every night when I awake from my nightmares. To become the Mockingjay... I don't think I could do any more damage than I already have. So maybe I really should?<br>I spin on my heel at the sound of a pityful miaow. In the doorway of my room, hesitant like I've never seen him, stands a cat I thought I'd never see again. "Buttercup," I say. Thousands of people are dead, but he has survived and even looks well fed. On what? He can get in and out of the house through a window we always left ajar in the pantry. He must have been eating field mice. I refuse to consider the alternative.  
>As soon as I say his name, he comes up to me and rubs against my legs, purring happily. I gather him into my arms, burying my face into his fur, half laughing and half sobbing.<br>Only now that some of my tension fades, I realise that I'm still more on edge then I should be. Then it hits me. It's the smell. Cloying and artificial. A dab of white peeks out of a vase of dried flowers on my dresser. I approach it with cautious steps. There, all but obscured by its preserved cousins, is a fresh white rose. Perfect. Down to the last thorn and silken petal.  
>And I know immediately who's sent it to me.<br>President Snow.  
>When I begin to gag at the stench, I back away and clear out, pressing Buttercup so tighly against my chest he hisses in protest. How long has it been here? A day? An hour? The rebels did a security sweep of the Victor's Village before I was cleared to come here, checking for explosives, bugs, anything unusual. But perhaps the rose didn't seem noteworthy to them. Only to me.<br>"Are you okay?"Rory asks as I leave the house and I can only nod. He immediately signals for the hovercrafts anyway, wrapping an arm around me."You're okay, Primmie. It's fine, we're getting outta here."  
>Back on the hovercraft, I mostly ignore everyone's demands whether I'm all right, waving them off and contenting myself with petting Buttercup and leaning against Rory. The rose, I decide, will stay between me and President Snow. No one else would understand anyway.<p>

_)o(_

_Just a heads up: I have to work next Sunday. Hopefully I'll be able to update anyways, but just in case I don't manage! See you soon, darlings xx_


	3. Chapter 3

From the landing pad, Rory walks me down a series of stairways to Compartment 307. We could take the elevator, only it reminds me too much of the one that lifted me into the arena. I'm having a hard time adjusting to being underground so much. But now, just for once, being underground feels comforting, rather than being something I have to push from my mind at all times to fight of the feeling of being burried alive. But after seeing what happend to my home, after finding that rose, I feel strangely safe the further from the surface I am, though it might have to do with the familiar weight of Buttercup in my arms and Rory by my side.

I hesitate at our door, giving Rory a worried look."What do I tell her? About Twelve?"

"She won't want to know about Twelve. Just tell her you're fine, that's what I'll tell Ma,"he says, reaching up to touch my cheek."That's all that matters, anyway."

"Thank you,"I whisper, leaning into his touch. He smiles and presses a quick kiss to my forehead."I'll see you at dinner, Primmie."

I take a deep breath and open the door. My mother is home for 18:00 - Reflection, a half hour of downtime before dinner. I see the concern on her face as she tries to gauge my emotional state. But then she catches sight of Buttercup, and any questions she may have had are washed away for the moment. I set him down on the floor and start emptying my bag."I brought some stuff from home."

My mother hugs the wedding photo tightly against her chest and then places it, along with the book of plants, on our government-issued chest of drawers. I hang my father's jacket on the back of a chair. For a moment, the place almost seems like home. Like Katniss might come home any second. So I guess the trip to Twelve wasn't a complete waste.

We're just heading down to dinner when Gale comes jogging up to us, pointing to his communicuff after a quick hello. Being granted a communicuff is a special privilege that's reserved for those important to the cause, a status Gale achieved by his rescue of the citizens of Twelve. "They want the two of us in Command," he says.

I resign myself to following him with a heavy sigh. They probably want an answer from me now, seeing as they let me go to Twelve. I'll be their Mockingjay, I think I always knew I wouldn't back out, but it still makes me feels sick to my stomach. My decisions, my actions will affect the lives of others, as the bombing of Twelve made painfully clear. Most of all, I worry for Katniss, Madge and Effie. They're the Capitol's most obvious targets if - when - I step out of line. I dig my nails into my palm in an attempt to calm myself, ground myself in the moment.  
>Gale holds the door for me and I slip into Command, the high-tech meetingwar council room complete with computerised talking walls, electronic maps showing the troop movements in various districts, and a giant rectangular table with control panels I'm not supposed to touch. No one notices me, though, because they're all gathered at a television screen at the far end of the room that airs the Capitol broadcast around the clock. I'm thinking I might be able to slip away when Plutarch, whose ample frame has been blocking the television, catches sight of me and waves urgently for me to join them. I reluctantly move forward, trying to imagine how it could be of interest to me. It's almost always the same. War footage. Propaganda. Replaying the bombings of District Twelve. An ominous message from President Snow. Once, it was so much worse than that. Unbidden, the images flood back into my mind.

_The Victors' Village in Four. The Peacekeepers advancing, the victors, their spouses, and older children blocking their path, refusing to hand over one of their own even as the guns are trained on them. As they are hopelessly outnumbered. As they are threatend with being shot. The Head Peacekeeper having enough, a cruel smile on his face as he speaks."Fine. Get their children."_

_The victors, one by one, giving in, stepping aside, some holding out until the first little girl is dragged from her homeby her hair, screaming for her mother. Then they all break away. Understandably._

_Annie Cresta's left, wide-eyed and shaking, with only an old woman by her side. I remember Mags from my Victory Tour, from the silly photoshoot with their oldest living victor and their youngest._

_There's no hint left of the kind, open smile now, as she's shielding the young woman as much as blocking her from stepping forward, even as Annie's begging and pleading with her to just save herself._

_For a moment, the Peacekeepers seem uncertain what to do, then Mags whistles Rue's four-note-tune and without further warning, the Head Peacekeeper aims and shoots. They take Annie away, covered in blood and screaming, screaming, screaming._

_The transmission gives out at the same time as Finnick's knees._

_"She was as good as his family,"Cashmere tells me later._

So it's a relief, almost entertaining to see Caesar Flickerman, the eternal host of the Hunger Games, with his painted face and sparkly suit, preparing to give an interview. Until the camera pulls back and I see that his guest is Katniss.

I push my way to the front of the room until I'm right at the screen. She looks healthy and unharmed. Her skin is glowing, flawless, in that full-body-polish way. It feels less real than the images my nightmares conjured, of her beaten and bloodied and barely alive. And yet there she is. I reach out to touch the screen, her name hardly even a whisper on my lips. I feel a shaking hand settle on my shoulder and don't have to turn to know it's Gale.

Caesar settles himself more comfortably in the chair across from my sister and gives her a long look."So... Katniss... Welcome back."

Her smile is more a grimace but she tries hard to hide it, I can tell."I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar."

"I confess, I did," says Caesar. "The night before the Quarter Quell...well, who ever thought we'd see you again? You seemed quite determined to sacrifice yourself so Miss Madge Undersee could survive."

"Yes, that's the plan,"my sister replies. Her choice of words doesn't go unnoticed by me and I throw Gale a quick look. He looks as if he's going to be sick, but there is hope in his eyes. So he caught it, too. _That's the plan._ Present tense. Letting us know two things: Madge is alive and Katniss is doing what they tell her to keep it that way.

Caesar leans in a little."But other people had plans as well."

Katniss only nods, frowning as if she's angry or has forgotten what she's suppossed to do.

"Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena?" Caesar prompts her gently. "Help us sort a few things out."

My sister nods but takes her time speaking, seeming to turn the words over in her mind, careful to say the right things. "That last night... to tell you about that last night... well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt for us, how it felt in the arena. It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, there's death, there's the jungle... green and alive and ticking. That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two days, fifteen people have died - some of them defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won't be you. Never was going to be you."

She paints a picture with words, in a way Katniss never could have. If I hadn't suspected it all to be scripted before, I'd know now. My sister does not have such a way with words.

"Once you're in the arena, the rest of the world becomes very distant," she continues. "All the people and things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you're going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it's very costly."  
>"It costs your life," says Caesar.<br>"Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people?" says Katniss. "It costs everything you are."  
>"Everything you are," repeats Caesar quietly.<br>A hush has fallen over the room, and I can feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it's really like in the arena before.  
>Katniss goes on."I was only thinking of the plan. Keep Madge alive, that was the only thing that mattered. And the idea with the salt water, the lighting – it seemed so mad it just might work. When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Everyone was screaming, nothing was the way it was suppossed to be. And then I had that arrow and the forcefield... blew out."<br>"You blew it out,"Caesar corrects her, not unkindly."You do know that, don't you? You blew out the forcefield."  
>"I didn't know,"Katniss snaps."None of us understood that plan. I don't think Curie even understood it." That's a blatant lie but Caesar doesn't challenge her on it. "They tricked us. We didn't know <em>anything<em>."  
>"When you say 'we', you surely can't mean to include your sister?"he presses."She disappeared right before everything went awry. You've seen the footage, she left the building of her own free will."<br>"Of course she'd follow Haymitch,"Katniss all but hisses,"He's her freaking mentor, he's suppossed to help her. They tricked her, too. They kidnapped her."  
>"All right. It just looks suspicious," says Caesar. "As if she was part of the rebels' plan all along."<br>Now Katniss is on her feet, getting right into Caesar's face, her arms trapping him in his chair."Yeah? So it was her plan to leave me for dead? To trigger the bombing?" She's yelling now. "She didn't know, Caesar! None of us knew anything!"  
>Caesar places his hand on Katniss's shoulder in a gesture that's both self-protective and conciliatory. "Okay, Katniss, I believe you."<br>"Good." She steps back, slumps into her chair, looking distraught.  
>Caesar pats her shoulder. "We can stop now if you want."<br>"Was there more to discuss?" says Katniss wryly.  
>"I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you're too upset..." begins Caesar.<br>"Oh, I'm not too upset to answer that." Katniss takes a deep breath and then looks straight into the camera. "I want everyone watching - whether you're on the Capitol or the rebel side - to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that - what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?"  
>"I don't really...I'm not sure I'm following..." says Caesar.<br>"We can't fight one another, Caesar," Katniss explains, sounding as if she's reciting something she learned by heart. Or maybe it just seems like that to me because I know her so well. "There won't be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn't lay down their weapons - and I mean, as in very soon - it's all over, anyway."  
>"So...you're calling for a cease-fire?" Caesar asks.<br>"Yes. I'm calling for a cease-fire," says Katniss tiredly. "Now why don't we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?"  
>Caesar turns to the camera. "All right. I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming."<p>

_)o(_

_woah whoops three chapters in and I already killed Mags_

_and not even on screen, in a flashback..._

_then again, I killed Cinna and Portia in something that barely qualifies as a sentence so ha whoops_

_I'm a piece of shit_


	4. Chapter 4

Even though Katniss is no longer on screen, I remain where I am, watching a Capitol woman read a list of expected shortages with much more interest than this warrants. I know that everyone is waiting for my reaction to that interview. I can't process this all so quickly. Seeing Katniss, alive and well, makes my heart soar with relieve yet there's the undeniable complicity with the Capitol now that she's called for a cease-fire. Oh, of course she made it sound as if she were condemning both sides in the war. But at this point, with only minor victories for the rebels, a cease-fire could only result in a return to our previous status. Or worse.

Behind me, I can hear the accusations building. The words traitor, liar, and enemy bounce off the walls.

"Are you all idiots?"Gale snaps, loud enough to make most of the room fall silent."That was obviously scripted, you morons. She didn't have a choice."

Coin raises an eyebrow at him but shows no other sign of... well, of anything, really. Her voice is iritatingly calm and emotionless when she speaks."You speak when you are spoken to, Soldier Hawthorne. And mind your tone."

"He's right, tough,"I say, the first time I'm actually directly addressing the president of Thirteen."They made her say that. It didn't even sound like her. I mean, come on, how thick can you get? She's being threatened. Her friends are being threatened. You can't leave her for dead and then blame her for trying to stay alive."

"She has done a lot of damage,"Coin intones, still so annoyingly calm that a surprisingly large part of me wants to punch her in the face."Most of the rebels will dismiss what she said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire's clearly President Snow's idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of your sister's mouth."

"She doesn't really know – If she'd seen – "I trail off, realising they don't really care about anything I have to say. I turn to Celeste Horan and Plutarch Heavensbee, hoping for some sympathy or at least a more practical approach than Coin's damning stubbornness."We need to do damage control. Interviews, maybe. Get Finnick on camera or Cashmere or me or show them Twelve."

They nod to this but I know they only want to hear five words from me: _I will be the Mockingjay._ And I do want to say them, but something in me is still fighting it. I settle for five different words."I want to see Olive."

The look Coin gives me makes the word icy seem not cold enough."You are in no position to make demands, Soldier Everdeen."

I swallow hard, balling my hands to fists in hopes of keeping them from shaking. The room is full of the most important people here, and almost all of them are loyal to Coin above all else. But they're judging _my sister _when they're the ones who need something from me. And I'll either get all or nothing at this point. I glance at Gale and he nods, mouth set into a thin line. That decides it, then.

"Except I am, actually,"I say, as calmly as I can manage."I kick-started this whole rebellion thing. Either the rebels see me on your side, another side or they don't see me at all. Which will only lead them to accept that you must have, indeed, kidnapped me. How do you think that'll work out for you?" I don't pause long enough for anyone to challenge what I'm saying."And one word from me, you lose Haymitch, which costs you Chaff and Finnick at the very least." Now I'm mostly bluffing, but there's some truth to my words nontheless. Finnick is a wreck and looks to his friends to tell him what to do, too worried out of his mind to decide the simplest things for himself."Gale's only in as long as I am. Our district's people will question it if he stops supporting you. Then you either deal with that or throw them out. Both'll make you not exactly look good. And you said it yourself, there are districts where the resistance is shaky. I'm not saying I can definitely get Olive to cooperate, but I'm not going to make it worse."

My words are followed by a resounding silence. And then Coin laughs."It's starting to become clear what you see in her, Plutarch. Boggs, take Soldier Everdeen to the Kentwell girl."

I want to ask for Gale to come with me but I have a feeling that I've pushed my luck enough for one day, so I quietly follow the man out of Command and along multiple corridors. We end up infront of another medical tract. Thirteen has atleast four of these I know of; they're divided into severity of the medical conditions and things like pre- or post-operation. I also suspect that they want proper quaratine spaces in case of another epidemic. This tract I haven't been in yet, which is probably why I have yet to see Olive.

"I'll leave you here, Soldier,"Boggs says."Unless you need help finding your way back?"

I smile at him."No, I'm okay. Thanks."

He nods and leaves me to enter the room by myself. There's not a lot of people here and I spot Olive almost instantly. She sits propped up against a bunch of pillows and squints at me as I come closer."Everdeen? That you?"

"Yeah, it's me,"I reply. Olive reaches out to tug on one of my braids, frowning."It is, isn't it? You're real."

I pry my hair out of her grasp."Are you okay?"

"I think so. But who knows, really." She shrugs, holding her arm out to me so I can see the medical bracelet she's wearing."Mentally disoriented. And they're giving me medicine for pain and my – ah, what do they call them? _Moods._" She puts the last word in airquotes."I think it's code for throwing stuff at nurses. And doctors. And anyone who tries to convince me to be some kind of symbol or whatever. Either way, it makes me see things."

"Sounds crap,"I say and she shrugs again."Yeah, mostly. But I had a two hour conversation with Clove before I remembered she's dead. That was pretty nice."

I don't know how to react to that, so I just pull up a chair and sit down next to her bed."Well, I'm pretty sure I'm real. Did anyone tell you what's going on?"

"Roughly,"she says."We're in Thirteen, my family isn't, they fucked up our rescue and left Curie behind. Plus your sister and the rest. Then they proceeded to drug me senseless. Now I'm supposed to play nice and smile into a few cameras."

"I think you should do it,"I tell her."Tomorrow morning, I'm going to agree to be the Mockingjay."  
>"Because you want to or because you feel forced into it?" she asks. Now it's my turn to shrug."Want to, I guess. I feel I should. I want to stop the Games. Help defeat Snow. I figure you'd want that, too."<br>Olive hesitates but then nods."Yeah. It's just – everyone held in the Capitol, everyone back home in Two... I saw what they did to your district. I guess Two isn't expendable like Twelve was, but still. Even if we win, I don't know what they'll do. We know everyone calls us Capitol lapdogs."  
>I've had that thought before myself, though it was rather in regards to Effie and, in the last hour, Katniss. I'm sure Coin has her own brand of justice and I'm not sure I'll like it."I'm important. We're both important. Important people usually get what they want."<br>"You're thinking we should make a list of demands,"she says."That's actually pretty good. Getting me out of here would be point one. They say I'm not stable enough to live alone, but no one'll have me. They packed Glamour in with Demeter two days ago, so I can't go there. I apparently give her panic attacks or whatever."  
>"You did almost kill her, you know,"I remind her."Put her in a coma, actually."<br>She waves me off impatiently."Arena, Prim. Can't hold it against me. What happens in the Games, stays in the Games."  
>I'm taken aback by how calloused she is, even now, but decide to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume it's her way of coping. Besides, I need her. Not to mention that I remember all too well how horrifying it was to be confined to my bed and drugged into submission right after my games. I give Olive a small smile."You can come live with me and my mum. I'll tell the chief physician right now, then we can get our list started tonight."<p>

_)o(_

_I missed Olive :3_

_[_the bitch is back_ playing in the distance]_


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, I see that 7:00 - Breakfast is directly followed by 7:30 - Command and it's the same on Olive's arm. They were happy to move her to my room instantly, probably figuring out that I'd convinced her to do what they want from us.

At the dining hall, I flash my schedule, which includes some kind of ID number, in front of a sensor. As I slide my tray along the metal shelf before the vats of food, I see breakfast is its usual dependable self - a bowl of hot grain, a cup of milk, and a small scoop of fruit or vegetables. Today, it appears to be grated apple. All of it comes from Thirteen's underground farms. Very impressive but also kind of disgusting, to be honest. Olive and I sit at the table assigned to the Everdeens and the Hawthornes and some other refugees. I shovel my food down, wishing for seconds, but there are never seconds here, which is harsh after a year of eating on a Victor's winnings. But they have nutrition down to a science. You leave with enough calories to take you to the next meal, no more, no less. Serving size is based on your age, height, body type, health, and amount of physical labor required by your schedule. The people from Twelve are already getting slightly larger portions than the natives of Thirteen in an effort to bring us up to weight. I guess bony soldiers tire too quickly. It's working, though. In just a month, we're starting to look healthier, particularly the kids.

Rory sets his tray beside me and leans around me to look at Olive, smiling politely."Hi, you must be Olive. Good to see you finally made it out of the hospital."

"Thanks,"she says after scrutinising him for a few seconds, probably trying to decide if he's being nice or is somehow mocking her."And you're... Rory? That right?"

He nods happily and then turns to Posy who's demanding his attention. Gale sits down across from me and I note his empty wrist."So they took your communicuff?"

He grins wrily."Yeah, for mouthing off. Or insubordination, they called it. I don't care."

"This food is disgusting,"Olive suddenly says apropos of nothing."Give me the list."

I sigh in exasperation."Don't be silly. You're not putting better food on our demands."

"I was going to put outdoor privileges,"she replies as if that were obvious,"I hunt, you gather. Make the food halfway decent. Put it at three."

I consider this and realise it's a good idea. Anything that gets me out of this giant tomb is good with me. I look at Rory and Gale."I'll put you in on that, too. And Gale, if it's okay with you, I'm going to ask them to make you my personal guard. They can't throw you out of any meetings or anything."

My sister trusts him more than anyone in the world and I know they'd never agree to let me have Rory tag along, so this is the next best thing. Provided he's okay with it.

"Sounds good,"he replies. I'm glad he accepted this so quickly, but I do have another reason for wanting him on my team. I'd rather keep it to myself, really, as he has persistently refused to speak of either Katniss or Madge with me. Still, I can only imagine how I'd feel if I had known even less about the rebels' plans and even know, I'm unhappy with how much seems to be done behind my back. I don't want to do that to Gale, keep him in the dark and use him. I clear my throat awkwardly."I want you in whatever footage they'll broadcast, too. Show you're important to our cause. Madge - " He freezes, all colour fading from his face as he stares at me. I force myself to continue."Right now, she's really just a pressure point to get Katniss to do what they want. That won't keep her alive forever. Gloss for Cashmere, Katniss for me, Curie for Wiress. That's how it works. You need to be seen as more important. Then they can't kill her."

It takes him a few seconds to react, but then he gives a jerky nod in response. I don't push the subject further as he returns his attention to his food, leaning in to shovel his portion of apple half on Rory's and half on my plate. I frown but greedily tuck in anyways."Bet you that's illegal or something."

"What can they do? They've already got my communicuff," says Gale dryly. Olive takes my bowl and scrapes it clean."They could always shoot you."

I elbow her in the ribs, seriously hoping she doesn't actually have a point."Stop being such a ray of sunshine, will you?"

Just then, a bell signals the end of our eating shift. Olive gets up and so do I."You coming with us, Gale?"

He checks his arm but then nods anyway."Sure, why not. Who cares about Nuclear History class, anyways?"

By the time we get to Command, Coin, Plutarch, and all their people have already assembled. The sight of Gale raises some eyebrows, but no one throws him out. He and Olive flank me like they actually are my bodyguards and I realise I find that oddly comforting.

I clear my throat, very aware of everyone's eyes on me."Olive and I have decided it is time to cooperate. I'll be your Mockingjay."

I wait so they can make their sounds of relief, congratulate, slap one another on the back. Coin stays as impassive as ever, watching me, unimpressed.

"But we do have some conditions." I smooth out the list and begin. We even rated them, hoping to make them more ready to agree by starting with the small things."My family gets to keep our cat." My tiniest request sets off an argument. The Capitol rebels see this as a nonissue - of course, I can keep my pet - while those from Thirteen spell out what extreme difficulties this presents. Finally it's worked out that we'll be moved to the top level, which has the luxury of an eight-inch window aboveground. Buttercup may come and go to do his business. He will be expected to feed himself. If he misses curfew, he will be locked out. If he causes any security problems, he'll be shot immediately. I want to protest that, but I realises it's as good as it's going to get, so I agree.

I look at the next point on my list."I want Gale with me whenever possible. He's to act as my guard and adviser. He's to be included in whatever footage of me allows for it."

They nod, and Fulvia Cardew actually seems delighted, mumbling something about 'camera ready faces'.

"We want to go out in the woods. To hunt and gather. This includes Rory and Gale Hawthorne," I say. This gives everyone pause.

"We won't go far. We'll use our own weapons. You can have the meat and everything else for the kitchen," adds Gale. He glances at me."Or for the medical units, if applicable."

They still hesitate, but Olive chimes in before they can say no."It's just...I can't breathe shut up here like a...I would get better, faster, if...I could hunt."

Plutarch begins to explain the drawbacks here - the dangers, the extra security, the risk of injury - but Coin cuts him off. "No. Let them. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter-mile radius. With communication units and tracker anklets. What's next?"

"We want full access to every and all strategy meetings, documents past and present, and be included in all decisions that concern more than Thirteen,"I say. Again, it's Coin who agrees, looking almost smug."Of course. In fact, we welcome your wish to be involved, Soldiers."

I swallow hard before continuing. The next two points are the most important ones, yet also the ones I think they're most likely to reject."When the war is over, if we've won, those held in the Capitol will be pardoned." Dead silence. I take this as a cue to continue. "No punishment will be inflicted. They will be granted immunity. This goes for, but is not limited to, Katniss Everdeen, Madge Undersee, Effie Trinket, Domitia and Remus Kentwell, Terra Hayden, Johanna Mason, Curie Plasmic, and Annie Cresta."

We decided that we'd put the most important people in by name and Olive insisted on the phrasing, so Coin couldn't 'screw us over later'.

"No," says Coin flatly.  
>"Yes," I shoot back. "It's not their fault you abandoned them. Who knows what the Capitol's doing to them?"<br>"They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit," she says.  
>Olive takes a step towards her, her voice even but somehow almost too calm."They will be granted immunity. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you'll find yourself someone else to do your propaganda. This is not optional, it is not negotionable. You agree, or Everdeen and I are out."<br>"What do you say, President?" asks Plutarch. "You could issue an official pardon, given the circumstances. Half of them are not even of age, some are rebels, some both."  
>She looks like she'd rather not, but Coin agrees.<br>I nervously smooth out the paper again, fighting the urge to hand it to Olive. She came up with this one, but it's good and I'm in a better position to haggle. So I continue to talk."Regarding the victors outside the Capitol or atleast not in custody, we want them tried by a jury of their peers. That means the other victors, including myself, obviously."  
>The 'no' doesn't come as a surprise."Victors do not recieve any special treatment. If anything, siding with the Capitol is more despicable after having survived the Games."<br>"And you'd know that, would you?"I snap at Coin."Once in the Games, always in the Games. You don't know what it's like. You cannot know why we do what we do."  
>She studies me and then a small smile spreads across her face."Very well. All victors left alive by the end of the war will be judge by a jury of their peers."<br>The phrasing bothers me, but she's already continuing."Will that be all?"  
>"One more thing,"I say."You will personally pledge all of this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations."<br>"All right," Coin says finally. "But you'd better perform."  
>"We'll perform when you've made the announcement," Olive says.<br>"Call a national security assembly during Reflection today," she orders. "I'll make the announcement then."  
>And just like that, we're done. Coin's eyes have flickered to her arm, the clock. She, too, has a schedule to adhere to. "I'll leave them in your hands, then, Plutarch." She exits the room, followed by her team, leaving only the two former Gamemakers, Fulvia, Gale, Olive, and myself.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

_I know it isn't Sunday but it's FEBRUARY 14TH! do you know what that means? no, not Valentine's._

_Two years ago, I posted the first chapter of Everybody's Darling and one year ago, the last! This story is now two years old! And, as someone with a two-year-old nephew, I think that's a pretty huge thing!_

_in conclusion, this chapter can't wait til tomorrow ;)_

_)o(_

"Excellent. Excellent." Plutarch sinks down, elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes. "You know what I miss? More than anything? Coffee. I ask you, would it be so unthinkable to have something to wash down the gruel and turnips?"

"I know, it's the worst,"Olive drawls."You know what I miss more? My family. Y'know, those people you failed to save. So can we get on with this stupid rebellion so I can maybe get them back?"

Plutrach looks away abashedly."Ah, of course. My apologies." He reaches a hand out to the side, where Fulvia is already extending a large sketchbook bound in black leather. "You know in general what we're asking of you. I'm aware you have mixed feelings about participating. I hope this will help."

Plutarch slides the sketchbook across to me as Celeste hands a second directly to Olive. For a moment, I look at it suspiciously. Then curiosity gets the better of me. I open the cover to find a picture of myself, standing straight and strong, in a black uniform. Only one person could have designed the outfit, at first glance utterly utilitarian, at second a work of art. The swoop of the helmet, the curve to the breastplate, the slight fullness of the sleeves that allows the white folds under the arms to show. In his hands, I am again a mockingjay.  
>"Cinna," I whisper.<br>"Yes. He made me promise not to show you this book until you'd decided to be the Mockingjay on your own. Believe me, I was very tempted," says Plutarch. "Go on. Flip through." Then, to Olive he adds,"Portia did yours. I don't think you had the pleasure of meeting her but I do hope you'll like what she did."  
>"Doesn't really matter, I'll wear it either way,"Olive says, the sketchbook still closed before her."She didn't let them see she was frightend."<br>I bite my lip to stop myself from sobbing. I realise it's Olive's way of saying she respects the stylists and will not deny their final wish, their final design. And she's right. Portia and Cinna both stepped infront of the firing squad with their heads held high.

I turn the pages slowly, seeing each detail of the uniform. The carefully tailored layers of body armor, the hidden weapons in the boots, the medikit affixed to the side of the belt, the special reinforcements over my heart. On the final page, under a sketch of my mockingjay pin, Cinna's written, _I believe in you_.  
>Olive's by now staring in fascination at Portia's sketches and after a few minutes wordlessly swaps our sketchbooks to look at my Mockingjay uniform. In turn, I slowly flip to the first page of her sketchbook, tracing the lines of Portia's design. Even if I hadn't been told, I would have recognised it as her work, could have picked it out of any as easily as Cinna's. The design is reminiscent of the chariot costumes of the tributes from Two in some aspects, sharing the hints to stories we've never heard in Twelve while they seem prominent in other districts and the Capitol. The golden breastplate is crafted with intricate designs of snakes, as is the handle of her axe, the red of the uniform under it the exact shade of blood. Where my outfit is sensible and functional, Olive's is a statement in and of itself.<br>"It's inspired by the furies,"the girl from Two remarks when I look up."The goddessess of vengeance and retribution. Couldn't make more of an impact at home, really. We're raised on those stories. 'We are the children of eternal Night, and Furies in the underworld are called...We chase from home the murderers of men'."

"You're going to be the best-dressed rebels in history," says Gale with a smile, having studied the designs over my shoulder. I nod and turn to the fromer Gamemakers."So, what now?"  
>"Our plan is to launch an Airtime Assault," says Celeste. "To make a series of what we call propos - which is short for 'propaganda spots' - featuring you two, and broadcast them to the entire population of Panem."<br>"How? The Capitol has sole control of the broadcasts," says Gale.  
>"But we have Beetee,"Plutarch replies."About ten years ago, he essentially redesigned the underground network that transmits all the programming. He thinks there's a reasonable chance it can be done. Of course, we'll need something to air. So, ladies, the studio awaits your pleasure." Plutarch turns to his assistant. "Fulvia?"<br>"Plutarch and I have been talking about how on earth we can pull this off. We think that it might be best to build you, our rebel leaders, the faces of this cause, from the outside...in. That is to say, let's find the most stunning look possible, and then work your personality up to deserving it!" she says brightly.  
>"You already have their uniforms," says Gale.<br>"Yes, but is Olive scarred and bloody? Is Primrose glowing with the fire of rebellion? Just how grimy can we make them without disgusting people? At any rate, they have to be something. I mean, obviously this" - Fulvia moves in on me quickly, framing my face with her hands - "won't cut it." I jerk my head back reflexively while Olive sniggeres but Fulvia's already busy gathering her things. "So, with that in mind, we have another little surprise for you. Come, come."

She gives us a wave and we follow her and the ex-Gamemakers along. Olive sighs heavily."Holy crap, and here I thought my escort was bouncy. Are we rebels or the cheersquad?"  
>"Bit of both, it seems,"I say as I wrap my arms tightly around the sketchbook and allow myself to feel hopeful. This must be the right decision. If Cinna wanted it.<br>We board an elevator, and Plutarch checks his notes. "Let's see. It's Compartment Three-Nine-Oh-Eight." He presses a button marked 39, but nothing happens.  
>"You must have to key it," says Celeste.<br>Plutarch pulls a key attached to a thin chain from under his shirt and inserts it into a slot I hadn't noticed before. The doors slide shut. "Ah, there we are."  
>The elevator descends ten, twenty, thirty-plus levels, farther down than I even knew District Thirteen went. I'm starting to feel panic creeping up inside of me and am beyond relieved when the elevator finally stops. It opens on a wide white corridor lined with red doors, which look almost decorative compared to the gray ones on the upper floors. Each is plainly marked with a number 3901, 3902, 3903 ...<br>As we step out, I glance behind me to watch the elevator close and see a metallic grate slide into place over the regular doors. When I turn, a guard has materialised from one of the rooms at the far end of the corridor. A door swings silently shut behind him as he strides toward us.  
>Plutarch moves to meet him, raising a hand in greeting, and the rest of us follow behind him. Something feels very wrong down here. It's more than the reinforced elevator, or the claustrophobia of being so far underground, or the caustic smell of antiseptic. My hands are instantly sweaty. One look at Gale's face and I can tell he senses it as well.<br>"Good morning, we were just looking for - " Plutarch begins.  
>"You have the wrong floor," says the guard abruptly.<br>"Really?" Plutarch double-checks his notes. "I've got Three-Nine-Oh-Eight written right here. I wonder if you could just give a call up to - "  
>"I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now. Assignment discrepancies can be addressed at the Head Office," says the guard.<br>It's right ahead of us. Compartment 3908. Just a few steps away. The door - in fact, all the doors - seem incomplete. No knobs. They must swing free on hinges like the one the guard appeared through.  
>"Where is that again?" asks Fulvia.<br>"You'll find the Head Office on Level Seven," says the guard, extending his arms to corral us back to the elevator.  
>From behind door 3908 comes a sound. Just a tiny whimper. Like something a cowed dog might make to avoid being struck, only all too human and familiar. I instinctively step forward, more sensing than really hearing Olive hiss something behind me. Her sketchbooks clatters to the floor right infront of the guard. A second after he leans down to retrieve it, Gale leans down, too, intentionally bumping heads. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says with a light laugh, catching the guard's arms as if to steady himself, turning him slightly. In a split second, Olive's past him. She pushes open the door marked 3908 just as I catch up with her. And there they are. Half-naked, bruised, and shackled to the wall.<br>My prep team.

_)o(_

_I'm not sure yet if this chapter is instead of tomorrow or in addition to, it depends on how much time I'll find to write tomorrow... Anyway, hope you enjoyed the anniversary chapter!_

_Thanks to all you lovely readers and reviewers, especially those who've stuck with me and Prim since the beginning :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Soooooo, turns out yesterday's chapter was in addition to today's :)_

_)o(_

The stink hits me hard. Even with the heavy antiseptic smell, the stink of unwashed bodies, stale urine, and infection breaks through.

Flavius and Octavia shrink back against the tiled walls like they're anticipating an attack and I half-turn to Olive, gesturing for her to step back. I can only hope they aren't afraid of me. They couldn't possibly, could they? But I can't even fathom what happened to them.

For answers, I cross to Venia, even as the guard's ordering me out. But by the shuffling that follows, I know Gale has somehow detained him.

I crouch down and take her icy hands, which clutch mine like vises.  
>"What happened, Venia?" I ask, forcing myself to ban the tremor from my voice. I have to be strong for them. "What are you doing here?"<br>"They took us. From the Capitol," she says hoarsely.  
>Plutarch enters behind me. "What on earth is going on?"<br>"Who took you?" I press her.  
>"People," she says vaguely. "The night you disappeared."<br>"We thought it might be comforting for you to have your regular team," Plutarch says behind me. "Cinna requested it."  
>"Cinna requested <em>this<em>?" I snap at him. Because if there's one thing I know, it's that Cinna would never have approved the abuse of these three, who he managed with gentleness and patience. There's tears stinging in my eyes."Why are they being treated like criminals?"  
>"I honestly don't know." There's something in his voice that makes me believe him, and the pallor on Fulvia's face confirms it. Plutarch turns to the guard, who's just appeared in the doorway with Gale right behind him. "I was only told they were being confined. Why are they being punished?"<br>"For stealing food. We had to restrain them after an altercation over some bread," says the guard.  
>Venia's brows come together as if she's still trying to make sense of it. "No one would tell us anything. We were so hungry. It was just one slice she took."<br>Octavia begins to sob, muffling the sound in her ragged tunic. In that moment, I'm strangely reminded of Posy. I crawl across the floor to her shaking form. "Octavia?" I touch her and she flinches. I try again, my voice gentle, barely a whisper. "Octavia? It's going to be all right. I'll get you out of here, okay? It'll be all right, I promise."  
>"This seems extreme," says Celeste, sounding as if she's about to be sick.<br>"It's because they took a slice of bread?" asks Gale.  
>"There were repeated infractions leading up to that. They were warned. Still they took more bread." The guard pauses a moment, as if puzzled by our density. "You can't take bread."<br>I can't get Octavia to uncover her face, but she lifts it slightly. The shackles on her wrists shift down a few inches, revealing raw sores beneath them. "I'm bringing you to my mum." I address the guard. "Unchain them."  
>The guard shakes his head. "It's not authorized."<br>"Unchain them! Now!" I yell.  
>This breaks his composure. Average citizens don't address him this way. "I have no release orders. And you have no authority to - "<br>"Do it on my authority," says Plutarch. "We came to collect these three anyway. They're needed for Special Defense. I'll take full responsibility."  
>The guard leaves to make a call. He returns with a set of keys. The preps have been forced into cramped body positions for so long that even once the shackles are removed, they have trouble walking. Gale, Plutarch, and I have to help them. Flavius's foot catches on a metal grate over a circular opening in the floor, and my stomach contracts when I think of why a room would need a drain. The stains of human misery that must have been hosed off these white tiles...<br>In the hospital, I find my mother, the only one I trust to care for them.  
>"Mummy,"I say, and I must sound as pityful as I feel because when she turns around, there's concern in her eyes before she even sees the three figures huddled behind me.<br>It takes her a minute to place the three, given their current condition, but already she wears a look of consternation. And I know it's not a result of seeing abused bodies, because they were her daily fare in District Twelve, but the realization that this sort of thing goes on in Thirteen as well.  
>No one interferes when she guides the trio into an examination room to assess their injuries. I follow after her, hesitating just long enough to see Olive and Gale take up a position outside the door, arms crossed and glowering at anyone within a five-foot radius.<br>I'm so shaky that my mother finally takes a sponge and a flask of rubbing alcohol from my hands and orders me to let her do it by herself. I feel about as useful as I did after the brutal flogging Thread put Katniss through. But I know mum is right all the same. So I whisper reassurences, hold hands and clean my prep team's blood and grime coated faces as well as I can manage. They do not recoil from my touch anymore, at least.  
>Then, finally, my mother decides that she's done, for now. I trail her out of the room to find the others waiting. "They'll be all right," Mum reports. "No permanent physical injuries."<br>"Good. Splendid," says Plutarch. "How soon can they be put to work?"  
>"Probably tomorrow," she answers, at the same time as I round on the former Gamemaker."<em>That's <em>your first question? What is wrong with you?"  
>My mother pulls me against her, shushing me before continuing with a less friendly tone towards Plutarch."You'll have to expect some emotional instability, after what they've been through. They were particularly ill prepared, coming from their life in the Capitol."<br>"Weren't we all?" says Plutarch, and he looks so distraught I almost feel bad for snapping at him. Almost.


	8. Chapter 8

The former Gamemakers decide that we'll get nowhere today, so we're release to our regular schedule. Olive, Gale and I head towards lunch in silence, leaving eachother to our dark thoughts. We run into the rest of the Hawthornes on the way and Hazelle eyes us with concern."Is everything alright?"

We must look about as glum as we feel, because even Posy stops chattering. Vick, taking one look at us, quickly assesses the situation and distracts his little sister. "Race you to the table,"he shouts, and they're off under much giggling and squealing on Posy's part.

"We're okay,"Gale says, causing his mother to raise her eyebrows, unconvinced. Olive laughs drily."Just realising what the hell we got ourselves into."

I shoot her a glare. She obviously has no concept of timing, or just doesn't care about other people's feelings. I suspect it might be both. I make myself smile and shrug."Just been a long day, and it's only lunch."

Gale forces a laugh and Hazelle drops the subject, though she remains sceptical. Rory indicates that we should drop back as we start moving again and I gladly accept.

"So, what really happened?"he asks quietly once his family and Olive are far enough ahead so they won't hear us anymore. And I tell him everything. By the time I'm done, there's hot tears streaming down my face and I'm digging my nails into my palm to feel something beside the anger, sorrow and gently uncurls my fist, brushes his thumb across the small bloody marks on my skin and laces our fingers together without comment, effectively stopping me from further hurting myself. Part of me wants to snap at him, for noticing, for anything, really, but I know it's just because I'm wound so tight right noiw and embarassed. I know I shouldn't be doing this to myself, but it gives me an ounce of control over something in my life and I find it hard to stop. As Rory doesn't mention it, I don't either, instead following up my retelling of today's horrifying events."It's a warning, hurting them. To the Capitol rebels as much as me. Don't get on Coin's bad side, don't think any status means anything."

"Being Captiol here is a liability, if anything,"Rory agrees."This – this is just more of the same, isn't it, Primmie?"

He's wide-eyed and afraid, but I'm not going to lie to him. Never have, never will. Even after my Games, I told him about every nightmare, every flashback, every panic attack in excrutiating detail. We have no secrets."Yeah. We're still fighting to stay alive. It's just not as simple, anymore. Hunger, other tributes, Snow. Those are enemies we know. Enemies everyone knows are the enemy. Here..."

I trail off, the truth too harsh right now. Rory must sense it, because he gently squeezes my hand and gives me a small smile."We've made it this far, haven't we?"

I only nod in return, not quite able to smile.

We head over to the table everyone's already having lunch at, where we're served bean and onion stew, a thick slice of bread, and a cup of water. After Venia's story, the bread sticks in my throat, so I slide the rest of it onto Rory's tray. None speaks much during lunch, not even Posy, but when our bowls are clean, Gale pulls up his sleeve, revealing his schedule. "I've got training next."  
>"Ditto,"Olive says with a glance at her arm. I tug up my sleeve and hold my arm next to Gale's. "Me, too." I remember that training equals the woods now. I turn to Rory."What about you? We got clearance to go outside instead of training."<br>He quickly checks and, with a grin like I haven't seen on his face in far too long, tells me our schedules match.

We go down to the armory where we're provided with weapons, a large burlap sack meant as a game bag, and a smaller one for me to gather herbs.

I tolerate having the tracker clamped to my ankle, even though it reminds me of how we could see Katniss and Madge's every move on our monitors during the Games, and try to look as if I'm listening when they explain how to use the handheld communicator. The only thing that sticks in my head is that it has a clock, and we must be back inside Thirteen by the designated hour or our hunting privileges will be revoked. This is one rule I think I will make an effort to abide.

We go outside into the large, fenced-in training area beside the woods. Guards open the well-oiled gates without comment. We would be hard-pressed to get past this fence on our own - thirty feet high and always buzzing with electricity, topped with razor-sharp curls of steel. We move through the woods until the view of the fence has been obscured. In a small clearing, we pause and drop back our heads to bask in the sunlight. I turn in a circle, my arms extended at my sides, revolving slowly so as not to set the world spinning.

The lack of rain I saw in Twelve has damaged the plants here as well, leaving some with brittle leaves, building a crunchy carpet under our feet. We take off our shoes. Mine don't fit right anyway, since in the spirit of waste-not-want-not that rules Thirteen, I was issued a pair someone had outgrown and I haven't quite grown into yet, so there's old paper with writing on stuffed into the tips. Some school kids old homework, if I had to guess.

We're going through the woods, Rory and I really just enjoying the fresh air and picking the occasional herb when we spot one, Gale and Olive doing the actual hunting."You're really good at this,"Gale tells her at some point. She grins at him."No need to sound so surprised. They have to teach us how to track and kill prey somehow, you know."

Gale's eyebrows shoot up. I guess, like me, he never really thought much about how the academies in the Career Districts work. "So they make you hunt for training? You hunt for sport?"

"Well, I sure as hell don't usually hunt for food,"Olive remarks."I'm really rich, you know."

She says it with a smile and Gale, after a second, gives her a small grin. Maybe he's remembering how well she got along with Madge. Or how she sobbed when she had to - when Amphitirte died. Either way, he doesn't hit her with a condescending remark like I'd have expected, so when Rory offers to let the two go off by themselves, I don't see a reason to object.

After scouring for plants for a while, Rory and I decide to set some snares for when we come back tomorrow, assuming we'll get time allotted again. Halfway through a snare, I become aware that my surroundings seem oddly fuzzy and my hands are shaking. I swallow hard, but don't really know what's wrong. Something's off but I can't put my finger on it. My head jerks up at a small sound to my left and I scream at the sight of the figure stepping out from between the trees.

I barely have time to get to my feet and fumble for a knife before strong arms wrap around me, restricting me.

_)o(_

_Can you say cliffhanger? lol see u next week_


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry that there was no update last week! I was in hospital from Saturday til late Wednesday :( I posted it on tumblr but idk who of you might have seen? Anyway I didn't feel up to writing anything until today, sorry :( I feel so bad though, especially with the cliffie and all!  
><em>

_)o(_

I throw myself forward as hard as I can, trying to break loose from the arms wrapped around me. The hold doesn't budge even a little. Someone's saying my name but nothing but the girl walking towards me really registers. There's blood on the knife she's holding and on her hands. The knowledge where that blood comes from makes tears rise in my eyes and bile in my throat. _Don't make me cut you up like that bitch from Five. _

"Get away from me!"I scream, kicking and clawing at the person restraining me."Get off me, get her away! Peeta! Help me! _Peeta!_"

But no one comes to help me. Strangely, the girl from Two stops advancing, a look of confusion and then understanding on her face. The knife drops from her hold and she raises her hands in a gesture of apeacement, slowly stepping backwards.

_That's not right_. The thought pushes itself to the front of my mind through the haze of panic. I should be dead by now. And there's no sign of Cato. Why is she not attacking? _None of this is right_.

The screams die in my throat and the desperate pleas of a voice right next to my ear finally reach me."It's not real, Primmie, it's not real. It's just Olive. It's not real. We're in Thirteen."

"Olive,"I repeat, and the fight leaves my body."It's not real. Rory?"

I can feel him nod against the back of my head."I'll let you go now, okay?"

His grip has already loosend and I turn in his arms, burying my face against his chest."Don't. Don't let go."

We stand like that for a while as I match my breathing to Rory's, letting it guide me back away from the edge.

"I shouldn't have grabbed you,"he says after some time, voice as shaky as I still feel."It's just – you went for the knife and I didn't know what to do."

"I could've disarmed her, easy,"Olive says testily."You should've just let her come at me."

"And you holding her down would have helped how?"Rory shoots back."That would have just made it worse."

"What just happened?"Gale suddenly asks, reminding me he's here aswell. I twist in Rory's embrace to look at his brother."Flashback. Haven't had one this bad for a few months. I've just been on edge, with my prep team and all. The woods got me, I guess. Or the snare. And Olive - she, well -" I break of somewhat awkwardly.

The girl from Two supplies the answer without looking at any of us."I look like my sister. Who almost did her in. Covered in blood on top of that, well, what did we expect, really?"

She says it very flippantly but keeps her eyes fixed on the floor before abruptly turning away."I'll go clean the game."

"Think she's okay?"I ask, guilt mixing in with the onslaught of things I'm feeling. Rory lets out a shaky little laugh."I take it you're feeling better if you've already moved on to worrying about her. Are you okay?"

I shrug."Better. But not a word to anyone. They'll revoke our outdoor privileges if they find out."

After I made them both promise not to tell a soul, we decide to knock off to spend the remaining time by a pond that must be fed by an underground spring, since the water's cool and sweet. I stick a few mint leaves on my tongue, close my eyes, and lean back against a rock, soaking in the sounds, letting the scorching afternoon sun burn my skin, side by side with Rory while Gale and Olive clean the game.

Time passes peacefully, yet slightly uncomfortably after my flashback, with everyone acting as if they're treading on thin ice, especially Gale. Rory knows enough about my... _issues _to try for a feeling of normality and I guess Olive must be familiar with nightmares herself, but they are both still noticably on edge. Still, when we have to go back inside, I would have rather remained in the fresh air and sunlight.

We hand over what we found in the kitchen and then Olive and I go to the new compartment we were assigned so Buttercup could come and go. I lay down for what feels like a few seconds but when I wake up again, it is 17:15. I sit up in a daze when I hear an announcement for an assembly at Reflection time. I guess they must have announced it again and again all day long, as they call it a reminder. Olive's still conked out on her bed, and I decide to give her another half hour.

When it's time to wake her up, I pick up my pillow and throw it at her. Not the nicest way to rouse someone, but I'm unfamiliar with her nightmares and flashbacks as of yet. And indeed, she lunges forward only to realise there is no attacker to fend off.

Once she's properly awake, we go down to the Collective. I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I point him out to Olive and start moving, but she decidedly shakes her head and motions for me to go ahead. I cross to him alone and say, "Hey, Finnick." He doesn't seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. "Finnick! How are you doing?"

"Prim," he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think. "Why are we meeting here?"

"I told Coin I'd be her Mockingjay. But I made her promise to give the other tributes and victors immunity if the rebels won," I tell him. "In public, so there are plenty of witnesses."

"Oh. Good. Because I worry about that with Annie. That she'll say something that could be construed as traitorous without knowing it," says Finnick. I squeez his hand reassuringly."I put her in by name, no worries."

Words are another thing not wasted in Thirteen. Coin calls the audience to attention and tells them I have consented to be the Mockingjay, provided those in captivity will be granted full pardon for any damage they do to the rebel cause, and that all Victors will be judged by a jury of their peers at the end of the war. In the rumbling of the crowd, I hear the dissent. I suppose no one doubted I would want to be the Mockingjay. So naming a price - one that spares possible enemies - angers them. I stand indifferent to the hostile looks thrown my way.

The president allows a few moments of unrest, and then continues in her brisk fashion. Only now the words coming out of her mouth are news to me. "But in return for this unprecedented request, Soldiers Everdeen and Kentwell have promised to devote themselves to our cause. It follows that any deviance from the mission, in either motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in this agreement. The immunity would be terminated and the fate of the captives and victors determined by the law of District Thirteen. As would their own. Thank you."

I catch Olive's eye across the room and see my thoughts reflected on her face. In other words, we step out of line and we're all dead.

_)o(_

_idk I feel Katniss's ptsd was not really... like present? enough?_

_yeah that sounds okay I guess I hope you know what I mean_

_I wanna punch Coin_

_so nothing new there_


	10. Chapter 10

First thing the next morning, Fulvia orders my prep team to remake Olive and me to Beauty Base Zero, which basically is what a person would look like if they stepped out of bed looking flawless but natural. It means nails are perfectly shaped but not polished. Hair soft and shiny but not styled. Skin smooth and clear but not painted. Wax the body hair and erase the dark circles, but don't make any noticeable enhancements. For me, it's not that much of an effort, really, but Olive, with her acid-damaged hair, sunburned skin, and ugly scars, has to go through a whole regement while I'm simply soaking in the tub.

After I rinse the lather from my body, I turn to find Octavia waiting with a towel. She is so altered from the woman I knew in the Capitol, stripped of the gaudy clothing, the heavy makeup, the dyes and jewelry and knickknacks she adorned her hair with. I remember how one day she showed up with bright pink tresses studded with blinking colored lights shaped like mice. She told me she had several mice at home as pets. The thought was strange to me at the time, since we consider mice vermin, unless cooked. But perhaps Octavia liked them because they were small, soft, and squeaky. Like her. As she pats me dry, I try to become acquainted with the District Thirteen Octavia. Her real hair turns out to be a nice auburn. Her face is ordinary but has an undeniable sweetness. She's younger than I thought. Maybe early twenties, if even that. Devoid of the three-inch decorative nails, her fingers appear almost stubby, and they can't stop trembling. I want to tell her it's okay, that I'll see that Coin never hurts her again. But the multicolored bruises flowering under her green skin only remind me how helpless I am. Octavia pauses at the sight of the small, cresent-shaped lesions my nails left all over my arms, but doesn't comment, only offering me a timid, sad smile. I squeeze her hand in return."It'll be okay, Octavia. I'll make it okay."

She nods, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't really believe me. I'm not sure I do myself. Either way, she gets Flavius to hand over an item from the elaborate arsenal of products, tools, and gadgets Plutarch had the foresight to bring from the Capitol and sets to work on the marks I left on my own skin.

Flavius, too, appears washed out without his purple lipstick and bright clothes. He's managed to get his orange ringlets back in some sort of order, though. It's Venia who's the least changed. Her aqua hair lies flat instead of in spikes and you can see the roots growing in gray. However, the tattoos were always her most striking characteristic, and they're as golden and shocking as ever. She's intently focused on her task and the only one of the three to go near Olive without flinching in terror.

"Prim trusts her,"she says quietly but firmly to the other two when she thinks we won't hear."That girl won't hurt us. She's more like us than anyone else in this godforsaken place."

After that, Olive makes a noticeable effort to smile at them more and say 'please' and 'thank you'.

When it's almost time for lunch, I get dressed so I can head to the dining hall. My prep team huddles in a little group by the door. "Are they bringing your food here?" I ask.

"No," says Venia. "We're supposed to go to a dining hall."

I scowl at that, knowing that Thriteen has rigid rules, but also knowing that they could easily bend them just a little for these three, especially after their horrid treatment. But I guess that would be asking too much, expecting Coin to act as if she knew what empathy is. I swallow down my anger. "I'll show you where it is," I say softly. "Come on."

The covert glances and quiet murmurs I usually evoke are nothing compared to the reaction brought on by the sight of my bizarre-looking prep team. The gaping mouths, the finger pointing, the exclamations. "Just ignore them, they don't even know they're being rude," I tell my prep team - rude is a sad attempt at downplaying the people's behaviour and I know it - while Olive goes as far as flipping off a few people with a glare on her face. Eyes downcast, with mechanical movements, my team follows me through the line, accepting bowls of grayish fish and okra stew and cups of water.

We take seats at my table, beside a group from the Seam. They show a little more restraint than the people from Thirteem do, although it may just be from embarrassment. Leevy, who was my neighbor back in Thirteen, gives a cautious hello to the preps, and Rory's Ma, Hazelle, who must know about their imprisonment, holds up a spoonful of the stew. "Don't worry," she says. "Tastes better than it looks."

But it's sweet little Posy who helps the most. She scoots along the bench to Octavia and touches her skin with a tentative finger. "You're green. Are you sick?"

"It's a fashion thing, Posy. Like wearing lipstick," I say, hoping the mention of make-up might distract her. She liked playing dress-up with the kit Effie got me."Or those fake lashes I had, remember them?"

"It's meant to be pretty," whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, "I think you'd be pretty in any colour."

The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. "Thank you."

"If you really want to impress Posy, you'll have to dye yourself bright pink," says Gale, thumping his tray down beside me. "That's her favorite colour." Posy giggles and slides back down to her mother. Gale nods at Flavius's bowl. "I wouldn't let that get cold. It doesn't improve the consistency."

Everyone gets down to eating. The stew doesn't taste bad, but there's a certain sliminess that's hard to get around. Like you have to swallow every bite three times before it really goes down.

Gale, who's not usually much of a talker during meals, makes an effort to keep the conversation going, asking about the makeover. Olive point her spoon at him accussingly."Hold up. You'll be in the propos. Why are you not being scrubbed and prettied up?"

"I'll have you know that _I _have a camera ready face,"he replies with a fake-snootiness. Rory roars with laughter."Yeah, right. They just knew no one could save that mug of yours, no matter what they'd do."

As lunch comes to a close, I discreetly take Rory aside and ask him to keep an eye on my prep team, as Gale, Olive and I are scheduled to go down to Special Defense to meet Beetee.

The Special Defense level is situated almost as far down as the dungeons where we found the prep team. It's a beehive of rooms full of computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges.

When we ask for Beetee, we're directed through the maze until we reach an enormous plate-glass window. Inside is the first beautiful thing I've seen in the District Thirteen compound: a replication of a meadow, filled with real trees and flowering plants, and alive with hummingbirds. Beetee stands at the center of the meadow with Wiress, watching a spring-green bird hover in midair as it sips nectar from a large orange blossom. His eyes follow the bird as it darts away, and he catches sight of us. He gives a friendly wave for us to join them inside.

The air's cool and breathable, not humid and muggy as I'd expected. From all sides comes the whir of tiny wings, which I used to confuse with the sound of insects in our woods at home. I have to wonder what sort of fluke allowed such a pleasing place to be built here.

Beetee seems happy, his eyes alight with excitement, and Gale and he get into some conversation about hummingbirds and snares while I attempt to speak to Wiress. She glances at me but doesn't really seem to know who I am or why I'm trying to engage her in conversation. Olive stands off to one side, staring at Wiress as if expecting some outburst from her. Maybe even hoping for it, to somehow lessen the guilt she feels over leaving Curie behind, even if it was never her choice. Suddenly uncomfortable, I turn back to the two men."Beetee, Plutarch said you had something for us."

_)o(_

_Octavia is a precious baby and must be protected at all costs tbh_


End file.
